


if this is what i call home (why does it feel so alone?)

by AceMoppet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Beach Talk 2.0, Genderfluid Katsuki Yuuri, Introspection, Other, Summer of mutual pining, YOI Litmag Issue 2, liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: "Victor is just about to head to bed when he sees a peculiar shadow in the corner of his eye. He looks out the window, curious.His curiosity doesn’t abate when he sees Yuuri headed to the beach by themself."Or, Victor joins Yuuri at the beach. They talk, and in the spaces between their words, much gets revealed, and promises are made.





	if this is what i call home (why does it feel so alone?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, Ace here! So a couple months back, I had the opportunity to participate in the wonderful Shall We Read? YOI Litmag Issue 2: Time. I had a fantastic time there thanks to all the amazing creators and brilliant mods: a round of applause for all of them please!
> 
> As you might have guessed, this is the fic I submitted to the magazine; it's one of my favorite pieces so far, and I'm so glad I get to share it with y'all now.
> 
> Title comes from the song: The Saltwater Room by Owl City; I definitely recommend listening to it while you read, as I had it on loop when I wrote this fic!
> 
> Once again, thank you! Please leave a comment or kudos if you like it!

Victor is just about to head to bed when he sees a peculiar shadow in the corner of his eye. He looks out the window, curious.

 

His curiosity doesn’t abate when he sees Yuuri headed to the beach by themself. 

 

Victor is tired. His bones ache, his skin sags, and he’s pretty sure he can see his breath, gray and sad in the small corners of the room, shivering like a ghost. He should go to bed.

 

And yet, he lumbers over to his closet, grace forgotten in the swirls of exhaustion that ooze through his head like oil-slick slime. He wrenches the door open, paying no attention to the joints and door hinges that both creak in protest at the sharp movement, before dressing himself on autopilot. All his thoughts whisper  _ Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri,  _ as if Yuuri is the spring wind, flitting through the nooks and crannies of his mind to blow sweetly, gently, upon leaves and leaves of Victor’s sleep-scattered thoughts.

 

He stumbles out the door, Makkachin right at his heels. And then she overtakes him, a fluffy comet darting in and out of the puddles of streetlights pooling on the sidewalks, tingeing her fur orange. Victor doesn’t run, doesn’t even speed up.

 

Part of it is because he’s tired. Each step feels like he’s stepping on knives, like the little mermaid from the fairytales. The thought amuses him so much he spins on his feet just to prove he can, arms outstretched even though each inch he lifts them feel like he’s lifting pure lead ( _ or gold,  _ his mind whispers,  _ gold is just heavy, and even more ready to drown you-) _

 

The action is two parts joyful and one part yearning. Joyful, because who could be sad when they were spinning, head dizzy and lungs alive and heart full of fresh night air? Yet yearning because Victor had long forgotten how to spin without feeling like his head was dizzy enough to split, without feeling like his lungs were dying disorientedly, without feeling like his heart was hollower than an empty, discarded tin can. 

 

And then part of it is because he knows Yuuri. 

 

_ ‘There are two places Yuuri could be, and that’s either my dance studio, or Ice Castle,’  _ Minako had told him, slowly, eyes still sharp with suspicion, eyes that soften each time she comes across Victor reaching for Yuuri, waiting for Yuuri to reach back.

 

And they do,  _ oh they do.  _ It actually settles something in Victor’s heart, something that used to be hungry, gnawing at the bloody sides of his heart until Victor could feel how paper-thin the muscle was, like one little rip would ruin it completely. Victor doesn’t know how long it’s been in there, but Hasetsu, and Yuuri, soothe it, temper it, until it goes to sleep. Victor hasn’t ached like that since Yuuri had dragged him down to the —

 

_ BOOF! _

 

Victor turns, puzzled. His eyes take a while to adjust, overwhelmed as they are by street lights, but then he sees Yuuri with Makkachin lying at their feet. 

 

Victor huffs in amusement.  _ There are only two places Yuuri can be… unless they’re at the third place. _

 

Slowly, Victor makes his way down to where Yuuri stands on the edge of the shore. The rush of the sea rises up to fill his ears, the sound taking over his ears until the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore drowns his heartbeat. Somehow, he can’t mind; how can he, when the water’s lull is the most soothing sound he’s ever heard, second only to Makkachin’s soft breathing. It’s far better than his heartbeat, his loud, unsettling heartbeat.

 

His heartbeat, which usually picks up around Yuuri. His heartbeat, which stays sleep-still now, in the dark, as he brushes up against Yuuri’s side, just far enough that Yuuri doesn’t have to step away if they need space, just close enough to bring Victor in if they want (and Victor hopes they want). 

 

Victor is silent as he looks at Yuuri. Only Yuuri’s breath, slow and thoughtfully, deliberately measured, indicates that they know Victor’s here by their side, waiting and watching. Their head is tilted back, and their eyes track the sky.

 

Victor knows that Yuuri sees him watching - no, not watching,  _ staring -  _ at them, and yet, he can’t stop the way his eyes linger on the way Yuuri’s hair, somehow darker than the night around them, flaps behind them in the steady ocean breeze. He can’t stop the way his gaze catches on the tilt of Yuuri’s soft-sharp chin, somehow precious and dear yet foreign and strange in the moonlight. He can’t stop the way he wants, wants,  _ wants -  _ he wants so much more than he’ll be able to ask for tonight, if he asks at all. He doesn’t care if Yuuri sees because he just can’t  _ stop. _

 

Finally, Yuuri speaks. “You should be asleep,” they whisper, tone carelessly neutral, like there aren’t so many things they aren’t saying behind those four words.

 

“I saw you,” Victor says belatedly, after four or five or six waves have crashed onto the beach, soft yet sure. It’s not an excuse, nor a reason, Victor knows, but Yuuri knows what he’s saying.

 

Yuuri hums. “You’re out here with me,” they say, sparkling eyes still focused on the sky above them, searching and searching and searching.

 

“I saw you,” Victor repeats helplessly, as if it explains everything. For other people, it wouldn’t. Others would have, and have, poked and prodded at Victor, demanding answers from him that would be better shown in the way he breathes and thinks and sees, instead of in the way the world expects him to talk. Yuuri though, they don’t demand more, don’t even ask. 

 

Instead they hum, eyes still wandering the depths of the stars. Maybe Yuuri does know what Victor means, maybe they know it better than Victor does. Or maybe they don’t know, but they’re okay with that, content with the not knowing for Victor’s sake. Victor doesn’t know which reason he likes more, but what he does know is that his chest feels warm, like the moonbeams have finally reached his heart to heat him up from the inside. So he’s fine with standing here, fine with just looking at Yuuri until Yuuri wants him not to. 

 

It’s not long before Yuuri breaks the silence again. “Ne, Victor,” they say, accent curling around the edges of Victor’s name like they want to keep it wrapped safe in their mouth, “do you see any planes up there tonight?”

 

Dutifully, Victor looks up. He squints, and blinks, and squints again, but save for the occasional twinkle they throw out offhandedly, the stars stay stationary. 

 

“No,” he says, “I don’t see them. Sorry Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri makes a noise, something that’s a cross between ‘it’s fine’ and ‘don’t apologize’. “They’ll be there,” they say, eyes finally coming down to see Victor, softer and darker and fonder than anything Victor’s ever known, “sometime tonight.”

 

Victor licks his lips. “Do you,” he asks slowly, already trying to figure out when to call Yuuko tomorrow to cancel their morning practice, “want to stay here until then?”

 

Yuuri’s gaze sharpens ever-so-slightly. “Would you stay here with me?”

 

Victor blinks. “Wouldn’t I?” he asks, baffled that Yuuri even has to ask.

 

Yuuri only looks at him, eyes wandering over Victor’s face, over and over and over again. This close, Victor can see the sparkle in their eyes as Yuuri searches for something. This close, Victor can see how the sparkle settles like a bird coming home as Yuuri finally finds that something, and he can see every little centimeter of Yuuri’s soft smile. “You would, wouldn’t you,” they say, as if to themself, huffing slightly.

 

Victor’s still not sure why this is in question, and he definitely doesn’t know why it makes Yuuri smile, disbelieving on the cusp of believing. Still, almost every one of Yuuri’s smiles deserves at least one of his own in return, so he smiles back too. The smile he pulls up is not bright, wide, and superstar-esque, nor is it joyful and heartful and overwhelmingly happy. It’s soft, barely even there, but it’s one of the realest things Victor’s ever given besides his earliest skates, and it feels good. He hums softly in response to Yuuri’s question-statement, smile widening just a tad bit to match Yuuri’s.

 

“It wouldn’t be fair to you though,” Yuuri says eventually, “Nor,” they go to say when they see Victor about to protest, “would it be fair to this lovely little girl down here.” They lean down to pet Makkachin, who  _ boofs  _ at them sleepily. They turn their gaze back to Victor. “Let’s go home.”

 

\---

 

Right before they part at the doorway, Victor can’t help but call out. “Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri stops and turns slightly. Their face glows with moonlight like it did out on the beach, and Victor almost misses Yuuri’s inquisitive, “Yes, Victor?”

 

Almost. “Do you,” he stops, licks his lip quickly, “do you think you could fall in love with me?” The last words come out as a whisper, softer and meeker than the moon gleaming on wet sand. Victor would look away, but he can’t, just like he can’t take the words back, can’t pretend they’re as insubstantial as moonlight when they mean so,  _ so much _ to him.

 

He doesn’t want to either, when Yuuri says, “Yes.”

 

“Yes?” Victor whispers, this time loud and harsh and unbelieving. 

 

“Yes,” Yuuri says, conviction resting heavily on that one word, “I can fall in love with you, and I  _ want  _ to fall in love with you. Just, ah, just give me time, please?”

 

And Victor doesn’t know why Yuuri is begging, just like he didn’t know why Yuuri had questioned him. But Victor does know his answer tonight.

 

“Take all the time you need, Yuuri,” he says softly. Because it’s true. He knows Yuuri loves him, and that is enough for him. If Yuuri thinks that they’ll one day fall in love with him, then Victor can wait. If Yuuri one day tells him that they won’t fall in love with him, Victor will stay. Yuuri is a part of his life now, and Victor knows he is part of Yuuri’s. So they’ll stay with each other, no matter what they both decide.

 

All they need is time, and they’ve got years and years and years of it. For now though…

 

“Good night, Yuuri.”

 

“Good night, Victor.”

 

And with that, Victor shuts his screen door behind him, yawning like a bear as he approaches his bed. In the corner of his eye, he sees a familiar shadow, and he smiles as Yuuri passes by his room letting out a yawn of their own.

 

He turns off his alarm and goes to bed. That night, he dreams of the beach, of the night, of the time when time itself had no meaning.

 


End file.
